


Holding On

by keelywolfe



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell, Alternate Universe - Underswap, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drunkenness, Established Relationship, Injury, M/M, Spicyhoney - Freeform, Underfell Papyrus, Underswap Papyrus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 20:16:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15104123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: None of this was Stretch's fault.Really. It wasn't.





	Holding On

**Author's Note:**

> Blame Sia's 'Chandelier' for this one. It hurts my soul a little and always makes me think of Stretch, who always laughs on the outside while he's breaking on the inside. 
> 
>  
> 
> _But I'm holding on for dear life_  
>  _Won't look down, won't open my eyes_  
>  _Keep my glass full until morning light_  
>  _'Cause I'm just holding on for tonight_

* * *

None of this was Stretch's fault. 

It wasn't his fault that Edge had decided to show up hours after they were supposed to meet, wasn't his fault that Underfell was so fucked up that Edge had needed to stick around until late into the night and Stretch didn't really want to hear stories of the murder guard over there taking care of business, he didn't, because he was already more than a little drunk and hearing about massacres tended to harsh his buzz a little. 

And he really didn't need Edge standing there disapprovingly, glaring at him while Stretch tipped the last of his glass back, sliding it empty across the bar. Like Edge had the moral high ground? Not likely, not in any 'verse, thank you very much.

"C'mon, Edgelord, sit down for once and have a drink," Stretch grinned at him, slouching back on his stool. It was telling how much focus it took to reach out with one foot, drawing his toes up the outside of Edge's leg. Didn't take nearly as much to see Edge jerk away from him and his expression changed as if Stretch was a puppy who'd just pissed on the carpet in front of him. 

Yeah, well, Stretch was pretty used to that expression anyway, mostly because he saw it so fucking often and not just from Edge.

He turned back around on his stool, elbows on the bar, and before he could order another, Edge spoke behind him, cool and sharp.

"I can't be here when you're like this."

"then fucking leave!" Stretch snarled. He turned enough to look at him, meeting his eye lights. Edge looked at him silently, assessing, fucking _judging_ , before he turned on his heel and did.

Stretch watched him go, the bell above the door jangling cheerily as it opened and shut behind him. He rubbed at his sternum as if to ease the sudden gaping wound that opened there. There _should_ have been a wound, a gash dripping marrow. That was the only pain he had to compare it to.

"keep it coming, muff," Stretch muttered.

She didn't look up from the glass she was polishing, one of her hands reaching out and topping Stretch's up. "Whatever you say."

* * *

It was hours later, the bar empty and the lights dimmed, before Stretch was on his feet again. Something like it, anyway.

"Time to go home," Muffet pushed him towards the door, her arms holding him mostly upright.

"c'mon, muff," he slurred. He leaned against her, nuzzled into her neck. "can't let me stay for old time's sake?"

She pushed him back with two sets of hands, looking up at him and her expression was weary, "We both know that's not what you want, Papyrus." 

Stretch flinched. No one called him Papyrus anymore, not even his brother. That was someone else's name now, a lost life, and he drew away from Muffet, ignoring the way all of her eyes turned to him, reflecting concern. 

But she didn't try to stop him from leaving. 

The cold outside woke him up a little. He stumbled towards home, fat snowflakes landing wetly on his skull. Considered a shortcut, but eh; he'd teleported in worse circumstances before but not many and his skull felt stupid and wrong, like it wasn't sitting on his vertebrae quite right. Better not to risk it. 

Home wasn't that far, anyway. The windows were dark; Blue would have long since gone to bed and saved his disapproval and disappointment for the artificial light of day. He staggered up onto the porch, the step beneath his foot slippery and Stretch barely registered the whirl of the world around him. He blinked up at the sky, bewildered, and he felt the cold of the snow under him before he felt the pain. 

"ow," he managed, thinly. He tried to move and pain flared, a red-hot spear of agony.

Well, fuck. He'd survived everything else and now he was going to die in his own front yard. 

Stretch let his skull drop back into the snow, laughing weakly because even now he could see the humor in it. His HP was ticking lower, slipping downward by fractions and if he dusted right here, there was a fair chance no one would even know it, not with the way it was snowing. He could imagine Blue looking for him, his starry eye lights dim and worried, and never knowing that every time he left the house to search he was walking over his stupid fucking brother's dust. It wasn't just funny, it was hilarious, and Stretch laughed harder, choking on it, coughing and it tasted funny, his own magic and something else. 

He really was dying. 

If he focused, he'd be able to see his own HP, but eh, why not leave himself one last mystery, right? Let dusting be a surprise. It didn't even really hurt, not much, the snow beneath him was numbing everything, and his soul was dimming, fading.

Distantly, he heard snow crunching. Pressure registered against his shoulder and then _green_ burst through him, waking up his soul and suddenly it was like broken glass raking over him. Stretch choked on a scream, arching soundlessly in agony as healing was brutally forced into him.

"You're an idiot," Scathing and it looked like Edge hadn't gone home after all. Whoopty fucking doo. 

"you knew that the moment you met me," Stretch mumbled. He choked out a ragged cry as he was lifted, strong arms carrying him, "don'…please don'…"

"I'm not leaving you here for your brother to find."

"heh…" Stretch wheezed out a laugh because it was still funny, why couldn't Edge see that? "he wounna fin' me. too much snow, he'da walked on me."

Edge ignored him, carrying him up the stairs to his room. Edge set him on the floor, surrounded by his own dirty socks and empty honey bottles, and roughly pulled off his shoes. Then his hoodie, yanking it over his head and Stretch couldn't help crying out, his bones hurting every time he moved. 

"don'…" Stretch begged again, cringing away from him, "don' hurt me no more…"

The hands on him went still, their grip easing. They resumed their task a little slower, gentler, stripping away the wet clothes with more care. When he was bare, he was lifted again, settled on the mattress. 

_Green_ again, the cold seeping away and the numbness went with it. Stretch gasped against the needle-sharp pain in all his bones, convulsing against his sheets, clutching the blankets and his heels drumming soundlessly against the mattress. "ah...oh fuck…oh _fuck_."

"Easy…it'll stop hurting in a moment."

"it won't," Stretch moaned. Wet heat on his cheekbones, "you'll leave—"

"I'm not leaving tonight."

Stretch shook his head; his chest was constricted, and that pain was different but it wasn't less. "you always leave."

A long moment of silence, the green easing back and Stretch could bear to open his sockets. Edge was looking down at him, his eye lights sharp. "I can't live here, you know that."

"you always leave," Stretch whispered. "i hate you."

"You don't." But it wasn't confident, the words softer, shaken.

"i do," Stretch whimpered. "i do. i hate that they're more importan' to you than i am."

"That's not fair—"

Stretch ignored him, his voice failing as he whispered, "i hate that i love you so much." 

He rolled onto his side, drawing his knees up to his chest. Sharpened fingertips touched his skull softly, tracing his coronal sutures, and Stretch hated himself too, a little, for yearning into that touch. 

"How is it that any of you claim it's my world that is dysfunctional," Edge murmured.

Stretch laughed then, hoarsely, "never said we weren't fucked up, too."

"That is true."

"sorry," Stretch muttered. It wasn't enough, even he knew that, not by far. Edge only hummed softly, still gently stroking him.

"Go to sleep, idiot, I'll be here in the morning."

"'kay," Stretch mumbled. He moved, slowly and painfully, to the edge of the mattress until he could reach out blindly, catching Edge's free hand and lacing their fingers together. It wouldn't keep him there, Stretch knew; if Stretch's soul wasn't enough to hold him, his hands were never going to be enough.

But he could pretend, for tonight.

-finis


End file.
